(I work in a family-oriented sports bar as a bartender. As per company policy, I must ID everyone, regardless of age, and I’m required to ID even regulars. This policy causes some grumbles, but generally people are good-natured about it.)

Guest: “I’ll take [Beer].”

Me: “All right, may I see your ID, please?”

Guest: *looks at me funny* “I’m obviously over 21.”

Me: “I’m sure, but I have to ID everyone regardless.”

Guest: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “Uh… Yes, I do. The ABC people are out in full force checking for ID violations, and I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Guest: *smugly* “No, the law says if they look over 35 you don’t have to ask for ID.”

Me: “If I don’t ID everyone, I could lose my job.”

(The guest continues to ramble about the law, but eventually shows me his ID.)

Me: “Thanks.”

Guest: “You don’t have to ID, though; it’s not Tennessee law.”

(I ignored the comment for my own sanity and went about my business.)

(I am the customer in this story, watching the cashier interact with another customer getting samples. We are at a very popular frozen yogurt chain with the word “yogurt” clearly in the title.)

Customer: “This is very good. Is it ice cream or yogurt?”

Cashier: *pause* “Yogurt.”

Customer: “Really? It tastes like ice cream.”

Cashier: “Well, it’s supposed to. It has all the rich creaminess of ice cream but less calories.”

Customer: “No, this is ice cream! You’re lying to me!”

Cashier: “Ma’am, I promise you that this is frozen yogurt. It’s very similar to ice cream, but it’s not ice cream.”

Customer: “But—”

Me: “Look, the cashier already told you it was frozen yogurt. The word yogurt is in the name of this restaurant. If you want ice cream, then go somewhere else. If you want yogurt, then get a bowl full of one of the ten samples you’ve already tried for free. But stop making this poor cashier’s job harder.”

(The customer turned red and stormed out, and I got my fro-yo for free!)

(I’m a new cashier, still in training, but I’m doing everything exactly by the book. Whenever someone wants to pay with a check, I have to ask for a photo ID to make sure that they’re using their own checks. A middle-aged gentleman comes up in line, buys a couple of t-shirts, and wants to pay with a check.)

Me: “Okay, sir, can I please see an ID?”

Customer: “A what?!”

Me: “I need to see a photo ID, please.”

Customer: “You need an ID, do you?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

(He glares at me, opens his wallet, and starts spilling out all sorts of IDs all over the counter.)

Customer: *obviously raging* “Here’s an ID from when I served in Afghanistan, and here are a few IDs from other states, and here’s an ID from when I was overseas, and here’s a photo ID from my job, and here’s an ID…”

(After a while I start blanking out what all IDs he offers, but he gets more and more angry as he’s throwing IDs down until he has emptied his wallet. I wait patiently and quietly for him to be finished, then I make a point of only picking up ONE.)

Me: “I only needed to see one, sir.”

(I finished ringing him up and waited for him to scoop up all of his IDs and stuff them back in his wallet. Then, he ended up leaving so angrily that he forgot his t-shirts.)

(I am delivering mail. It’s my last week. I come to a house where the mailbox is not in the door, but next to the street. Next to the mailbox stands a woman. To prevent theft, if we can’t be sure the mail belongs to someone, we cannot give it to them.)

Woman: *calling from a distance, smiling cheerfully* “You can just hand the mail directly to me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but giving the mail to someone just standing next to the mailbox is against policy.”

(I arrive at the post-box in question.)

Woman: *suddenly angry* “Why?”

Me: “To prevent theft. Anyone could go stand out here.”

(I drop the mail into the mailbox.)

Woman: *sneers* “And your attitude, is that also policy?”

Me: *considering that, even if she complains, the company won’t have the time to fire me* “Yes, it is, madam!”

(I work on the drive-thru for a popular fast food restaurant. I wish I had a dollar for every time this conversation went down, for I’d be so rich I could buy an island.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]; may I take your order?”

Customer: “Hi, I’d like… uh…”

(The customer then proceeds to sit there for two minutes umming and ahhing over the menu into the speaker-box, asking about different products, asking what meals are best for the prices, wondering if there is any way to make changes to burgers to make them something else, holding up the line, and making cars wait. Then, finally, after I have answered each and every single one of those questions, often times they end up putting in an order and then cancelling, which confuses the heck out of the kitchen.)

Customer: “You know what? I’ll just have a cheeseburger. I’m not that hungry, anyway.”